


The Code of the Holmes

by thecat_13145



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: I Believe in Sherlock Holmes, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-19
Updated: 2013-02-19
Packaged: 2017-11-29 21:21:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/691571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecat_13145/pseuds/thecat_13145
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mycroft escorts Bertie back from the doctors. They talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Code of the Holmes

“And I mean to say, Dash it all! It may only be a bit of paper, but it does mean something.”

Mycroft smiled, as he aided Bertram Wooster across the pavement towards the waiting car.

“I told Jeeves, I said to him, “If you don’t want anyone to know, then that’s all well and good, they have professional witnesses at these places. Just tootle off down to Bethnal Green, do the deed and then shove the paper in the safe. The only person likely to find it there is my cousin Angela, and she will just be disappointed that she can’t collect from the pool in the Junior Lipstick Club. But I want it. It means safety; it means that Flo, who increasingly resembles her Great Aunt Agatha, and her step Aunt Florence, if it comes to that, can’t ban Jeeves from my bedside, when the worse happens.” Watery blue eyes glanced at Mycroft. “I know, I know you can tell me that there’s more chance of holidays in hell than you or the rest of the family letting that happen, but I just remember poor Kipper. Thirty years he and Rocky had being together, longer than most marriages, but his family still wouldn’t let him near Rocky when the end was nigh. Sometimes I wander about…” the old head suddenly jerked up as though on a spring. “I say, I’m sorry. Here I am, blathering on about my problems and I haven’t asked you how you are?”

“I’m fine.” Mycroft said, keeping his eyes fixed on the car. Anthea was standing there, typing away on her blackberry. He had agreed to Jeeves’s request that he “accompany Mr Wooster to his appointment, and then see him safely home” mainly because he was sure that neither Bertie nor Jeeves would dream of bring up Sherlock. The old disgrace of a suicide in the family would hold their tongue, and Bertie was instinctively kind, if not intelligent.

“Everything alright in the firm? That errm little trouble all cleared up.”

“Miss Riley is still being dealt with, but thankfully the public memory is short. The most recent news is that the MP for Tottle in the Wold has being having an affair with his sectary.”

Bertie sniffed. “Hardly news worth, I would have thought. I thought they all did it. Ginger Winsop, now you’d be too young to remember him, actually ran off with his. Of course, a far more impressive feat was him calmly announcing, at a public meeting mark you, that he agreed with everything his honourable opponent had said, and urging the voters to support her. Then he and Magnolia ran off together in to the sunset, very nearly leaving Bertram in the noose.” 

They had reached the car. Bertie lifted his hat to Anthea, who graced him with one of her rare true smiles. Bertie was a great favourite of everyone, from Anthea, right down to Mrs Gold, the tyrant who was responsible for the teas. In the weeks after Sherlock’s demise, when everyone else had considered himself lucky if he got a hard rich tea, Bertie had being given Chocolate digestives while he sat waiting for Jeeves.

Mycroft stood quietly as James helped Bertie into the car, even going as far as to pull a rug across aged knees and got in himself. Mycroft clambered into the back, and Anthea sat in the front, causing James to blush lightly.

“No.” Bertie agreed, as they set off at a sedentary pace. “They were very happy together of course. Exultant, if that is the word I want.” He considered it briefly, before deciding if it wasn’t, his audience understood and continued. “Pity the same couldn’t be said for the children. Poor Amelia broke her mother’s heart with the way she carried on, and they were disappointed when Greg’s marriage ended of course…”

Mycroft winced. Bertie coloured.

“I am so sorry. I quite forget his involvement in the incident with your brother.”

“It’s quite alright.” Mycroft stared out the window, ignoring the pain in his chest at the mention of Inspector Lestrade so casually from someone who cared deeply about them both.

“Inspector Lestrade did arrest my brother, but he was only doing what he perceived as his duty. He has also taken great pains to see that his name is cleared.”

Bertie’s fingers twiddled. He had given up smoking, had being in the process of doing so the first time that Jeeves had taken a young Mycroft home for a good meal early in their acquaintance, which must make it nearly fifteen years ago now, but when he was embarrassed or agitated, you could still see that he longed for one, if merely for something to do with his hands.

“How’s the other chap holding up? The one who was rooming with your brother?”

“Doctor Watson?” Mycroft shrugged. “He appears well.”

“Appears is the proper word. When I saw him last week, Jeeves would have said that line about winning smiles and forgetting about things.”

“You saw him?”

“Well yes.” Bertie had the grace to look embarrassed. “You said he was a doctor, so I tottered around to the surgery. Thought it couldn’t do any harm to get a second opinion. Or a third.” He glanced down at the hands resting on his lap, snarled and twisted by arthritis. Bertie had being forced last year to stop playing the piano, and for the first time that Mycroft could remember Jeeves had taken to bringing records into the office.

“Seemed quite a good chap. Had a good look at the old hands, asked some questions and basically said exactly what Old Styles did. Nothing to be done. Could wrote me something for the pain, but it’s actually very light. Other things hurt more.”

Mycroft sighed. “I could speak to Jeeves,” He suggested. “There’s not even a need for a ceremony, if it makes him uncomfortable. Could just bring the papers around to the flat to sign.”

“Oh really?” Bertie’s face light up like a Christmas tree, and Mycroft was forced to wonder, not for the first time, if Bertie was really as thick as he appeared, or if he had just being carefully and deliberately pumped and manipulated. He dismissed it almost at once. Since Irene Alder, he’d being questioning his judgement left right and centre and look where it had got him.

James tapped delicately on the Panel to let them know they were here.

Berkeley Mansions rose stately out of the middle of glass and brick structures, a small reminder of the period between the wars. A grade two listed building, after a vigorous (and extremely fun) campaign by the society for the preservation of the Art Deco movement.

Jeeves had fought vigorously to preserve his and Bertie’s home of nearly Seventy years, but had completely and discreetly modernised it inside. The other tenants were mostly young, accepting couples, who all were convinced that Jeeves and Bertie were lovers, but were discreet enough not to say anything.

Normally the white carved palm leaves were the first thing Mycroft noticed, but today there was a large banner hanging from the second storey window.  
“I Believe in Sherlock Holmes” It proclaimed in large yellow letters. Mycroft stared. 

“Aah yes.” Bertie said, being aided by Anthea and James out of the car and following Mycroft’s eyes. “Well Charlie and Gok, you know the chaps in 3b, they were quite a fan of Watson’s blog. Gok used to print it off and bring it up for me to read when he was making tea. Dashed kind of him. And it seems they had this idea of doing it with spray paint on the walls, only I thought the management might of object, so we found a couple of old sheets and some string and there we are.” He glanced nervously at Mycroft. “Of course, it’s complete rubbish what they print in the papers. Jeeves seriously considered cancelling the subscription to The Times after they printed that muck. Not being the same since that Australian Chap got hold of it anyway, but he decided to leave it on principal. I mean I wrote a dashed strong letter to the editor about fact checking. I mean I’ve never seen this Rupert Brooks character on Television, nor had anyone else in the building. And I know that there are chaps as clever as that out there. I mean to say, look at you and Jeeves what?”

Anthea looked like she was seriously considering employing her Kirk Gya’s on Mycroft’s foot to remind him of social necessities, but Mycroft was hardly aware of it.  
He had seen the slogan tagged across London, and through the web, the world. It had being written in various ways, with interesting spellings, but this carefully planned banner meant more to him than he could say.

“Good afternoon, sir.” Jeeves was standing there, gently holding out one arm to take Mr Wooster and guide him carefully into the lift. “Mr Gok and Mr Charles Gold were in the flat, they asked your opinion of the banner?”

Mycroft swallowed. “It’s perfect.”

“I am sure the young gentlemen will be most gratified to hear that, sir.” Jeeves was smiling. “Will you be joining us for Lunch, and the afternoon letter writing?”

“Letter writing?” Mycroft blinked.

Bertie nodded. “You see Sally Grables, she’s in flat 5a, just moved in fact, she had this simply wizard idea of writing letters to every paper in London, demanding a more thorough investigation. Seems she works for a charity that does that abroad and apparently it works wonders for them, getting prisoners released, toppling dictators and all sorts of other good stuff, so if it works abroad, no reason it shouldn’t do the job here. We each write to a different paper every day. An extra pair of hands is always welcome.”

“I…” Mycroft couldn’t speak for a moment. “No. I have to get back to the office.”

Bertie looked a little disappointed. “Another time then?”

“Yes.” He hurriedly clambered back into the car.

“Make a note.” He said to Anthea. “The Gay Marriage bill. Get it moved into this session.”

Anthea raised an eyebrow, but she continued to tap away. 

Mycroft shook his head. If Bertie wanted to, he’d get him married to Jeeves in Westminster Abbey.

Jeeves, of course, would probably prefer a registry office, but these things could be sorted out. To the sounds of Anthea’s blackberry, Mycroft leaned back and considered the moves necessary to persuade Jeeves to propose.


End file.
